The farmer's son

Pheromones are my new favorite drug. I got laid five times in the last twenty four hours, and it was great. It's just so easy when it's with the right guy. Your instincts drive you towards it, regardless of if you want to or not.

The Farmer's Son's pheromones were strong stuff.

We had met through internet some time ago, but for some reason it never really worked out. I'm sure you recognize that situation. The person you add to msn and never talk to again. I guess that if Messenger had a Transfer Smell function internet dating would be much better.

Anyways,  the fact that the one time that we did talk we chatted about how much he liked breeding chicken also played a role. He spoke about how much he enjoyed feeding them at his farm, seeing them reproduce and their company.

It made me curious, but I can't say I found it very appealing. Think about how it would be to blow him.

I can picture me fishing not a hair but an alien feather out of my mouth.

Despite all of the objections my uncontrolled fantasy found for us happening, when he texted me saying he was close to where I lived I directly invited him to come over. Good thing I did.

He arrived, and I liked him right from the start. We just had some chat and drinks, the usual.

He might have been raised at a farm, but he turned out to be all but simple. In fact, he was an engineer and he had tricked me into believing his whole chicken story. I don't even know why I bought it. I guess I have witnessed so many strange things (just look at my archives) that I assume everything's possible.

The boy wasn't simple, and the boy was certainly not shy. In the middle of the chat he came closer, put a finger in my mouth, grabbed my neck and started making out with me.

I liked how he handled that.

It got even better once we got into the bedroom. Let me describe the picture to you. This two meters of man were very well built, due to his farm childhood. Working the fields all day will do that for you. On the other hand, I myself am about twenty centimeters smaller and have a quite slender build.

He would just grab me by the hips and swing me all around my bedroom every one of the five times we had sex.I had never thought I'd like it rough, but it actually blew my mind.

The first time we got it on, he would hold me in the air and start humping me. I approached this skeptically. Too often men try to play the hero like that with me and it always turns out wrong.

You have no idea how much work it takes to make that position work.

First you have to hold yourself there with just one arm, in order to seize the tube of gel. Then, once you have the lube in your hands you realize that you will need the other hand too to open the screwtop closed tube (Thanks! Johnson's and Johnson's).

So you tell the guy to hold you, and find a way to open it while staying there in a very awkward balance.

For the sake of science, let's say you have made it until there and that your hero's arms aren't dead tired yet.

Then you have to rub the gel on the implied dick and ass. This goes fairly easy, for if you've made it so far you are very skilled in men-climbing and can easily miss one arm to use it to perform these duties.

Once everything is nicely covered, you still have to find a way to get the dick into the now slippery designated place. Now, that isn't easy at all. First you have to climb up to the right height, for if you are too high it will obviously stay outside and if you get too low, it won't find it's way in. Unless you have a bendable dick, but that mostly implies that it's too soft to put it in anyway.

Suppose you find your way to the right height,  it still has to get in. Mostly, the first penetration has to happen slowly to prevent pain. Well, just imagine to be slowly climbing down a man, deadly scared of slipping down and getting suddenly impaled.

It's not only a hell of a job, but in my experience once you have finally completed the procedure, the guy can't hold your weight any longer and has to drop you to the floor. And then you've done all for nothing.

...

Just don't try this at home.

That's exactly why I was so amazed when farmer boy and me did it! Once I noticed that his grip was strong enough, I started to scooch up and down him until everything had fallen into place.

What can I say, it's an amazing experience. But I insist, it's advanced stuff and you should only try it under parental supervision.

Us, we continued for a while until we both came and lied down on the bed.

We then rested for two full minutes before we were at it again.

We were messing around, lying on the bed when he suddenly stands on his knees, grabs my hips and pulls.

Before I realized what was happening, I was being lifted by a tremendous force of nature and was standing on my hands, upside down, and being blown. The next moment I was lying on my belly and being held down with a strong hand.

And it continued like that every other time. If only we had been lying amongst haystacks, it would have been just perfect.

Apologies

Dear readers,

I'm writing this short note today to apologize for the fact that I didn't post any material this week. Last Wednesday was the one year anniversary of my father's death, and it has been an exhausting week both physically and emotionally.

As much as I love my blog and readers, I just haven't been able to produce anything.

I'll make it up to you next week, count on it ;).

Friendly,

A.S. Thomas

Godzilla's Beauty Mark

As you all know, I have a thing with big dicks. If you are a newcomer, now you know. “The bigger the better” I used to say. I have tried to break free of it, but it was all in vain.

“My name is A. and I have a problem” I would introduce myself at the Size-Queens Anonymous meetings. People there would ask me “How long have you been clean now, A. ?” and I would answer the exact amount of days and feel proud.

...

I'm exaggerating.

It has never been that bad, and I never tried to get rid of it. I saw and see no harm in it. Besides, I confess I liked how it had some power over me.

How it would motivate me to start dating a guy, or to try harder under the sheets.

It was fun. For better or worse, something happened this week that made me lose my interest in size.

Last weekend, I was sitting at a bar with a friend of mine. On a certain moment, a small guy approached us. He started talking to my friend and I recognized him as the guy my friend had had a crush on. They had been to bed once, a long time ago, ending in my friend having a crush and his crush rejecting him.

Not everything was bad about their date, though. My friend got to tease me and make me very jealous for some days, talking about how immense this man's pierced dick was.

I baptized him Cockzilla.

After their short affair, I never gave the guy a second thought. He was my friend's ex-crush, and that made him an untouchable. There are plenty of hung men in the world, why would I mess around with the one my friend would resent me for?.

Therefore, when last weekend Cockzilla asked me for my phone number I gave him the MPE (Multipurpose Phone Excuse):

“Oh, I'm sorry Cockzilla but I'm in the middle of a provider change. My phone number will change too, so it would make no sense to give it to you now. Why don't you give me yours, and I'll text you as soon as I have the new one.”

(If anyone has a better Phone Excuse, please send it to me. We will make the best ones into the official “Sex Won't Bite Phone Excuses” )

He nodded as an answer and gave me his number. He didn't get the message. No clue.

The world would seriously be a better place if people started catching other people's vibes. I'm talking about the “Why don't you look at me”, the “Why did you never call me”, the “You seem tense” and the “Just coffee, please”.

Although I never called him, the guy found a way to contact me. “ Oh, this guy whose best friend's heart I broke never called me.” He thought “ I guess that means... nothing. I'll just go and find him on the internet.”

He found my profile on a dating site, and sent me a message. Somehow we then got entangled in a quite annoying conversation. This guy wasn't the brightest, really, and that set the tone of our chat.

Although sarcasm may be my body's natural reaction to other peoples stupidity, there's some people that you can't even be sarcastic to.

They just won't get it. He was one of those people. If you are a Sex Won't Biter I'm sure you know what I mean. I'm sure you found yourself in that situation. Anyway, I'll just go back to my story.

After rejecting three or four proposals of meeting he kind of got the message:

“Hey, my intuition is telling me you are not interested in me. Is that right?”

I wanted to cry. His “intuition”?. Seriously?.

I told him he was right. It looked as if this would have been the end of the story, would he not have been inspired by the gods:

“Oh well, it doesn't matter. You couldn't handle my dick anyway.” he answered.

Of course he knew that was his best asset, and in a stroke of genius he had kept it until the end. Although I was completely aware of what effect he was expecting his words to have, and I normally hate giving in to manipulation, this was a special case.

We all have a weak point, and he found mine by pure luck. He played on my lust, and I gave in.

“What makes you so certain I can't handle you” I sent back.

Just like that, we got involved in a lecherous conversation about that matter. In the meanwhile, I shared everything with my friend-who-had-had-a-crush-on-him.

“I feel like he's challenging me. I'd like to meet him just to make him climb down.” I said “ And I would if he wasn't your ex-crush!”.

“Oh but I don't mind” my friend answered.

"Are you sure?" I said

"Yes! I'm totally over him"

After I receives his blessing, it took me less than five minutes to arrange a meeting.

He wanted to come watch a movie. Sure.

Some people just feel uncomfortable saying they're meeting to have sex. It may be their true intention, but they have to cover it up somehow. I think their excuses are meant more for themselves, not for me.

It's, in a way a logical behavior.

Most people who think casual sex is “bad” do so because an outside source told them to believe that. It may have been their family, religion, teachers, tv programs... Since that idea doesn't come from their own inner convictions, it's not consistent.

Since it's not consistent, the moment their natural desires pop up they find themselves lost. In order to give in to what they want, they need to make up some sort of excuse that will justify their action.

Hence the movie. We weren't meeting for sex, we were going to watch a movie and it just happened.

Lesbians have their own version of watching a movie.

“Hey, shall I come over tonight to fix your bike? I'm really good at it.”
“Well thank you, I'll make sure I have enough chilled beer in house.”

This is the farthest I've ever dared to look into lesbian-dating-behaviour so I'm afraid I can't tell you about what follows up. I do not know.

What comes next in my story, I do know.

He came to my house, and we watched the movie. I was actually glad that we had something to do, that way we didn't have to talk. Have I mentioned he was not so smart ?. I was just putting up with it because of everything I had heard about his talents.

After the movie he came up with an ice breaker worth of his wit.

He offered to give me a massage.

I couldn't hold myself and laughed at it. It was too cliché. I felt guilty for being so insensitive, but that feeling faded fast when I realized he had no idea why I laughed.

Once I had regained control of myself, I said that I'd love a massage and we went to my bedroom.

During the massage, we talked. When mothers (?) came up as a subject, he started telling me a story.

“You know, I was shopping with my mother and I though I had to buy condoms. I went with her to the pharmacy and I asked the pharmacist if she had XXL condoms.” He said.

“Seriously? With your mother there?” I asked, my friend's stories about Cockzilla counteracting my natural distrustfulness.

“Yes. Then the pharmacist came and she was like: Oh, I only have XL, and then I said: Alright, but are they also extra big in the width or only in the length?”

The story continued like this for a while. Of course it was all meant to impress me.

This small, quite chubby guy had to exploit his biggest asset.

“He has a lot to prove now” I thought.

Then we had sex. No, it wasn't that big. Yes, a normal condom fit easily.

Not that his dick was small, or that the sex was specially bad, both were just very mediocre. It was mediocre sex with a normal sized dick for the “big” category.

All those expectations that had been created were disappointed.

I took a shower right after he left. When I was standing under the warmth water I realized.

A big dick is just fun when it's your boyfriend's.

It's like a beauty mark, something intimate which knowledge you both share. Otherwise it doesn't mean that much.

That's at least, how I feel about it.

The Fresh and Frisky Years: IV

This is chapter four of The Fresh and Frisky Years, a five post series of stories previous to my eighteenth birthday. You can read chapter 1 first to understand this one better. You can also read chapter 2 and chapter 3 here but they are not necessary for this story.

Today I'm writing a story that took me years to get to fully understand. Even now, I'm not absolutely sure to know all of the facts that shaped the situation as it was. I'm writing this story just because I promised I would do so.

It's story of the capofamiglia Sleeping Beauty.

I was too young, when I met him, to have a profile on a dating site. Nevertheless, hormones raged through my body more than ever, and I was always a little premature. I wanted something.

A chat had to do it for me, and a chat is where I met him.

I was on a long lasting family trip. My parents had rented a house, and we stayed there for about a month. I was very bored. That's how I ended up turning to internet flirting to have something to do.

Our age difference was too big for me, I thought. Ten years seems a lot of time when you're fifteen. Today, I don't mind if my flings are some years older than me.

In fact, I'd rather have an older sergeant than a young private on me.

Of course, within limits. Anyhow, if you ask me now I still feel that for a fifteen year old boy, ten years older is too much.

It would all have ended promptly if it weren't that I had fallen in love with him. Yes, I know, falling in love over Messenger is nonsense. I hope my age-related innocence excuses me this time.

Every day I would anxiously go to the internet café close to our appartment and talk with this guy for some hours. After a week, he proposed to take a flight and come to where we were staying.

I thought he was kidding. He wasn't. At first I didn't wnat him to come. I was afraid for of course I was aware this was unusual. But I let it happen. I was in love, you see.

Some days later, I told my parents I was going into the city on my own. They didn't know I was to take a train to the airport where I would pick up Sleeping Beauty and gave me permission.

The first moments where awkward. The first impression was good though. I immediately liked him

I'm sure you can imagine how much of an impression his display of independence, spontaneously travelling to a foreign country, made on me.

He only came for two days and three nights. The first two days we spend together, at night I would come back home while he headed towards the hostal I had arranged for him.

Now I have to explain the story behind my election of a shelter for my beloved one. He wanted something cheap, and I found something cheap. What we both didn't know before his first night there, is that I had found a Christian house for homeless.

He was to share bedroom and showers with 19 homeless. Exactly what he deserved.

Despite that now I feel it was life putting things in place, at that moment I only felt sorry. I wanted to help him, and so I told my father an altered version of what had happened.

“You see, dad, my twenty year old friend from back home came here too, and I had recommended him a place to stay I found on the internet. But made a terrible mistake. I wondered if I could make it right by letting him stay with us tonight.”

This is why children shouldn't lie to their parents.

But they let him. Of course, I told him to slip into my bed as soon as it was quiet outside our room. We would start messing around very soon. Though it was nothing special how it ended confused me (my bed-karma was already starting).

He didn't want to cum. He let me do it, but he didn't want to do so himself. I was puzzled, really, and I just couldn't understand such a thing. I had seen too little of this world. I just believed his story and assumed he was asexual.

Today, with all the facts I've gathered through time, I believe that what he didn't want was to leave any DNA behind. Of course, what he was doing wasn't right or even legal.

Some months later I saw a movie about older men going to a house only to sleep with young girls, enjoying just their youth. Since then I thought of him as Sleeping Beauty.

But this was only the beginning. There's more tales to tell about him.

After we came back to our home, I naturally wanted to see the guy again. I had not forgotten.

I contacted him again. I told him I was back, and I wanted to see him. He said he wanted to see me too, but that it wasn't possible. He was not in the country.

“Oh, and when are you coming back?” I asked, assuming he was on holiday.

“Well, I'll stay here in Panama for about six more months I think” He answered.

...

He explained to me how he was living there, for work reasons, and that he was sorry.

Well, he apologized, but that didn't make me feel better. This came totally unexpected, and disappointed me. At first I wanted to wait for him, I still believed during those years, and I spent some sad days.

After a week or so, I decided he could go and fist himself in Panama. I'd just live on.

It took me some time to recover, but after a while I had a new boyfriend. I was never really in love with this one, though, and I'm not very proud to say I dropped him as soon as Sleeping Beauty came back from his little tax haven.

I was sure that, now that he was back, we would live happily ever after. I was to be disappointed. We only met once more. That day he took me to his house, and we had sex.

That would be the last time I saw him, for after that he would only try to hook me up with some of his friends (that, were about his same age) through Messenger.

Saying I was abused by him is not correct, for of course I didn't do anything I didn't want to. Still, now I see how I was playing a game I barely knew.

And Sleeping Beauty was a very seasoned player.

As you may have already read, some time later I dated a boy, my age, who had also dated Sleeping Beauty.

The details of how this happened are explained in the beginning of chapter 1 of the Fresh and Frisky years.

During my short time with Twinkslove we realized we shared a guy past. He would be the one who got me started in putting all the pieces together.

Twinklove's parents were rich and influential. I was not the only one they had been following for messing around with their son. They had done the same thing with Sleeping Beauty, and that way found out some details about him.

First of all, the man wasn't just ten years older than me. He was almost twenty years older than me. He had told the same lie to Twinkslove.

I already had a faint suspect that this would be the case, but I didn't want to try very hard to figure it out. I didn't really want to know, I didn't really care. What bugged me, was the feeling that I had been tricked.

A week after this revelation, I talked with my cute little boyfriend about Sleeping Beauty again. This conversation, together with some bits of information I got from the friends he tried to hook me up with made me understand the whole Panama episode.

Saying he was in Panama for work was but a half truth.

First of all, I heard how Panama is a tax haven. Then I started hearing how he had some very shady business going on there.The guy who told me about this business, also told me why he was forced to go back one week before my arrival.

Sleeping Beauty had a boyfriend, and Sleeping Beauty had broken his heart. In revenge, the broken hearted boy went to the police and told them everything he knew about his ex's business.It all threatened to crumble and turn out very badly for him. Hence, the six months in Panama.

Of how he fixed it, I have no clue, but as I said this was a very cunning, seasoned player. And he was good at many games.

Last thing I found out, was the structure of his friend maffia.

I heard how Sleeping Beauty, ignoring the fact that Twinkslove and me were cute little boyfriends now, tried to hook him up with the same friends as he tried with me. And in the same order.

One of those friends, the nicest one, was a real big mouth. He wasn't very bright, the poor soul. He was the one who gave me access to the ways of their group.

Sleeping Beauty was, together with another guy, the one who “fished” the boys between the fourteen and sixteen off the internet. After those men had had their share, they would get them to hook up with another one of their friends. The next in their hierarchy.

They even had a personal website that, in case you had the right password, showed you how it worked.

According to what I've heard, it had happened many times before me.

Luckily, and although I had no idea of what was going on, my intuition was still working and I didn't join their little games further than Sleeping Beauty.

What makes it the most disgusting to me, is the fact that they were intentionally messing around with boys at an age in which they're very influenceable.

At the moment, I believe Sleeping Beauty is missing. I heard he went to some forgotten country, hiding for the consequences of something he did.

Drama²

First I'd like to apologize to all of you who were disappointed this Wednesday. I have had a terrible week with lots of issues to deal with, lots of hours of work, lots of internet problems and very little time. I just couldn't get myself to write something that day. Hopefully you won't get back at me for it.

My story for today is about a guy I haven't talked about before. Still I have special feelings for him. It's not my usual kind of story, so if that's what you feel like today I suggest you click on some other post.

Let me give him a little bit of a background:

The first date was no good. Well, it wasn't even a date. I actually picked him up from the street and brought him home.

We talked for a while about every uninteresting thing we could think of. The talking wasn't a success, so we took it to the bedroom.

That part could have been great. We had the right chemistry and he definitely had the right moves and natural talents. Shame that his hardon was but a halfon.

Besides, he would moan all the time. I mean ALL THE TIME, even when there was no reason for it to happen at all. I maybe said "I'm gonna grab a condom" and he moaned.

Despite everything, I invited him to stay for dinner. Don't ask me why.

Right when we were about to begin our meal, it started raining. And, as the universal Hollywood-datinglaws dictate, rain quickly developed into storm.

I was almost expecting a power cut to happen.

Leaving sarcasm aside, I think it was then when it happened. When we were sitting, having dinner with each other, hiding for the storm.

When it passed, we said goodbye and I automatically assumed I'd never see him again.

During the week that followed, though, I realized that I had some special feelings for him. Actually, more than realizing it, it was more that I knew it was there but didn't want to acknowledge it.

Still, when he proposed to meet again it was that feeling that drove me to saying yes.

Well, it was that feeling together with the fact that I had had an exhausting day and he was offering to cook for me.

When he opened the door, I felt how my heart skipped a beat.

I ended up taking over the cooking, for he didn't look so crafty at it. In the meanwhile we had a great conversation. It was all looking great, until the moment we finished eating.

Only one minute after we were done, he was already humping me.

Normally I would have either played along if I felt like it or coldly reject him if I didn't. But this time I couldn't stay unaffected.

I felt hurt. I felt stupid for making up stories in my head while the “special feelings” weren't mutual. The dinner had just been an excuse to get me in bed.

Now that the dinner was finished it was time to pay the bill.

I just stood up, gave some bad excuse and left in a hurry. On my way home, I felt heart-broken.

Some days later he called again, though.

He wanted to know what had happened, saying I had left him with the feeling that he had done something wrong. I wasn't over him, but I didn't want him anymore so I allowed myself to be completely honest.

I explained everything to him. Including the halfon and the misplaced moaning part. I was expecting him to react childishly, but he didn't. He handled that like a man. I was impressed.

Eventually, we agreed to meet up again next weekend. Let me quote him:

“You and me, we're gonna choose your new courtains, get a kitten out of the cat home, rearrange the garden or bake some muffins. Anything but sex. I want to get the idea that I only want sex with you out of your head because I genuinely like you.”
-Humper.

I was amazed. It was such an unconventional solution that it made me admire him even more.

All summed up, I found myself looking forward to our next date during the whole week.

And that's where today's story actually starts.

“Let's meet early in the morning on Saturday” I sent him on Messenger, two days before the date “It gets late so soon these days”

“I am actually going to the frankparty tomorrow, so on Saturday I'll need to rest and recover first.”

“What's a frankparty?” I asked.

“Yeah, Frank2009's”

I hoped he would agree, and was now disappointed so I wanted to check what that frankparty thing was. I went online and looked for Frank2009's profile on the dating site we both use.

First thing I saw was a big dick. As I looked further, I saw this was a fifty year old man organizing orgies in his house. I guessed he called it “frankparties”.

...


You probably understand why I felt heart-broken at the moment. Again. I had been looking forward to that Saturday the whole week and he tells me I'd have to wait until he recovers from a gangbang!

I was so depressed. I immediately called my best friends for some support:

"This guy, for some reason, had me. He may have been bad in bed, humping me, and not specially attractive or smart but he had me." I complained to Mrs. Thomas.

I just didn't understand him anymore.

If he was going to an orgy, why did he choose to tell me?. If he “genuinely liked me”, why would he let me wait until he recovered from a gangbang? .

(Note that It's not about him going to a gangbang. That could be fine. It's about his priorizing of the gangbang above me.)

That made me feel that I was nothing to him. That I was just the next event in a full scheduled dating week.

On top of all that, he had stopped answering my messages. I was hurt and confused, and I have a taste for drama, so I just dropped him a quite literary final line.

What I said could be reduced to: it would be better not to meet on Saturday, I preferred to get rid of his games from now on and goodbye. Only I went a bit over the top.

I thought that would be the end, but two hours later, he textmessaged me.

“I just had some visitors. Excuse me for having a busy life!”

“Having a busy life is fine with me." I texted back "Disappearing after telling me you have to recover from a gangbang before meeting me, is not OK”.

“Gangbang?”

I couldn't believe he would start arguing about it technically not being a gangbang but an orgy.

“Call it a frankparty if you want” I bitterly wrote.

“Hey, at least you should have checked the link before judging me” And he included a link in his textmessage.

And, of course, it wasn't a link to a profile. Frank2009 wasn't a guy but a party.

FRiday After-work driNK 2009.

...

OK, so I'm a dramaqueen. I don't care.

I just felt incredibly relieved.

“Well, if you had given me a full link instead of just a name I wouldn't have looked on Frank2009's profile! See you Saturday.”

Despite the crudeness of my answer, I was happy and had a laugh attack that would come back and stop me from sleeping for about an hour.

Rollercoasters

My friend (already featured) and I decided to go to our all-time favorite bar this weekend and bring our old traditions back. In the past we used to arrive there around eleven, grab two spots at the bar and never leave them till the place closed around 6 AM. Those were the days. Later on, for some reason,we started to go more often on the dancefloor and dance around. Then we would get tired and bored way sooner.

When you sit at the bar, you allow more things to happen. People will come to talk to you more often. I guess that you look more available, less intimidating, than when standing in a group and dancing.

The downside of sitting at the bar, is that you drink twice as much and burn off half as when you dance.

Add this to the fact that I was already hammered (some friends had fed me some bad rosé earlier) and that since I became a vegetarian my body is more sensitive to alcohol and you'll understand what state I was in that night.

Sitting there, talking to my friend and checking out guys the barman came to me and gave me a coaster. I flipped it to see what was written on it. This was not the first coaster-message I received in my life, there are quite a few of them in my personal collection of “Things-people-gave-me-to-flirt”, but I never saw something like what was written on that coaster before.

A cute little sunflower with a hardon said hello to me from a coaster.

Maybe it was the rosé, but I burst out laughing real hard. Once I recovered, I asked the bartender who was the genious behind this Sunflower painting. He turned around ready to point at someone, but didn't. He looked at me, shrugged and said the guy had left.

“Maybe he saw me laugh and was hurt” I thought.

I decided to answer and clear things up. I grabbed a coaster and ask my befriended bartender for a pen.

I painted a bottle for of soy sauce. For no reason. It was the first thing that came to my mind, and I just gave in to my subconscious.

I finished colouring the bottle black, gave it to the barman and asked him to pass it on to my Van Gogh if he saw him again. After he took it, he left to serve some more drinks.

I looked at my friend, he smiled and we just kept on gossiping and laughing. I quickly forgot about this matter, until a different bartender gave me a new coaster. I eagerly flipped it, my friend looking over my shoulder, curious of what I had received this time.

“I'd like to make some chinese mushroom soup with you, hottie”

...

Well, that's one of the worst pick-up phrases I've ever heard. I guess I shouldn't have sent him a bottle of soy sauce... Anyways, I grabbed the pen and wrote my first thought down. I looked for the barman who gave it to me and asked him to give it back. He shook his head and apologized. He didn't remember who had given it to him.

Damn, getting to know who was sending me all this surreal stuff was not gonna be easy. I tried to find the one bartender I know, hoping he could tell me who my elusive admirer was. I didn't find him. One of his colleagues explained he had left for his two hour break.

I sat around for a while, wondering what to do next. After discussing it with my friend, we designed a new plan.

First we had to find eight coasters. It was not an easy task, but luckily it was only 1 AM and there were still a lot of them lying around unused. I stood up and walked along the bar, discreetly scavenging round pieces of cardboard.

Once we had eight of them, I wrote one word of my message (“That's the worst pick-up phrase I've ever heard”) in big letters on each of them.

Ultimately, with his help, we held the phrase up. We were hoping that the guy who wrote me the messages would understand it was for him. Of course more people saw our little act.

I had a little suspect that we were probably embarrassing ourselves, but the excess of alcohol gave us what we needed not to care.

Embarrassing or not, we triggered many reactions. One guy came to talk to us using our show as his own pick up phrase. Within five minutes we received three more coasters, but it was clear that none of them came from my Van Gogh.

I was a little bit disappointed. I must admit I was curious about who would write such unusual messages to someone. Nevertheless, I let it go. One of my new coasters included a free drink and a hot latin guy, and I couldn't waste it.

I stood up and walked to where this guy was invitingly smiling at me. I had just started enjoying my new, 3G coaster experience when I got a new message.

“So I do all the work, and he gets the trophy.”

Once I read it, I looked around me. I was hoping to see someone looking at me, checking if I was reading the message or trying to decipher my reaction. No one was. Every guy I could see was minding his own business.

I was getting annoyed. First I wanted to write an answer. “I'm no one's trophy, and please show yourself!” I wanted to send him. Then I realized that the guy I was talking to would not appreciate me flirting with someone else so obviously.

So I just decided to focus on him, and forget about the other guy. He probably wasn't any good anyway. Divide and conquer, I thought.

I've learnt that when you flirt with too many, you often end up with none.

Unhappily, fate made the latin guy's best friend feel sick ten minutes later and both of them had to leave. I scored a phone number, but that wasn't quite satisfying.

I looked at where my friend was sitting, but he was busy with someone else. Later, it turned out that the guy with the flower shirt talking to him was all but welcome and that my friend would've been glad if I interrupted them. I didn't pick that up though, so I preferred not to interfere.

“I'll answer to my post-impressionist now. At least it'll be something to do”.

I sat on an empty stool close to where I was standing and started engraving a new coaster.

“What exactly is so wrong about you that makes you turn to coasters to hit on someone?”

I called for the bartender who had brought me the last message and asked him to give this coaster as a response. I was planing on watching closely who my message was being delivered to. I wasn't expecting that the guy would preach to me, saying he was no postman and that the coasters were not meant for what I was using them.

That was really a gamebreaker. I sighed, disappointed, and resigned myself to just sit around and have a drink.

After ten minutes, the guy my friend was talking to left and I came to sit next to him. He told me his story, I told him mine and soon we had moved on.

The hours passed, and some more things happened. I'm not writing about them now, I had to choose one. Maybe one day I'll write a Map to a Night Out telling all the intertwined stories happening around us when we go out.

Anyways, at the end of the night, my befriended barman came to me to ask while cleaning up if anything had happened with the guy. I shook my head and summarized the story to him.

“What a pity, he was really hot” He said.

Maybe he was just teasing me, but I still was a little bit frustrated inside. Just a little bit.

The Fresh and Frisky Years: III

Welcome to chapter number 3 of the Fresh and Frisky Years. You can read chapter 1 and chapter 2 if you want, but it's not necessary to understand this one. Although I enjoy writing this spin-off, I can't wait till it's done. After I finish I will start writing about dating behavior and sexual freedom on Wednesdays.

I hope you like it.

-0-

Today, while reviewing the facts, I have no clue why I dated this guy for so long. I guess I just told myself that the bad things weren't so bad after all. Maybe I wasn't experienced enough to put it all in perspective and realize that I could get someone else and better.

That I didn't have to put up with his bad smell, worse hygiene and creeping family.

We met during one of my first nights out. I was at a bar with my best friend. She had put on loads of make up, hoping that the make up would make up for the three years she was lacking for spirited drinks. I just felt all awkward and shy.

Man, am I happy I left those years behind.

There wasn't a smoking prohibition in bars back then, and that really made wonders for him. It made me miss his odour. If I hadn't, I would never have wanted to see him back.

On our first date we went to the cinema. Sitting close and silent was when I first noticed his scent. I could immediately identify fossilized sweat as being the main constituent.

"Oh, well" I thought "Maybe it's just today". I wish it had been just that day, or at least just the smell.

Some dates later we went to the zoo together. We had a great time there, somehow I just love the zoo. I love the zoo, enjoy baking and have a sex blog.

...

Anyways, on a certain moment that day we entered the Gorilla World.

It was a small, dark passage around a glass cage where two gorillas lived. I got horny. There, in the dark, I started touching him. He immediately went along and soon we were entering the the Gorilla World toilets. This was gonna be the second time we had sex together.

Once inside of the cubicle, I knelled down and unzipped his pants. I was aware that he had a bad smell, but I was not prepared for what hit me when I lowered his underwear that day.

Suddenly, a dense smegma fog filled all the space around us.

Well, of course there was no real fog but you get what I mean. This guy was uncut, and since he didn't believe in hygiene, days and days of sperm, urine, and other delicacies were reaching me through my nose. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, we were in the Gorilla World after all.

I tried to ignore it and still blow him, limiting myself to the very tip of his dick. That part at least looked clean. But I just couldn't. The smell was too strong and I was besides terrified some of that stuff would accidentally slip inside my mouth.

“I didn't know you've been to Africa” I said.

He looked puzzled.”Well, I haven't. Why would I?”

“Oh well, I was just trying to guess what's the reason you are keeping all of this in your foreskin. Did you know some African's tribe men smear it behind their ears to attract women?”

Of course he didn't take this very good. What can I say, maybe my mind was all hazy by the poisonous gases. Some days later we made up and he promised to take better care of that aspect.

Well, that front at least was covered from that moment on. But it still got worse.


One or two weeks later we went last base. It was kind of alright. Not very special, but fun.The smell wasn't any better than it was on our first date. If you would ask me why I didn't dump him yet, I must say I have no clue. What I also didn't know is that going last base meant that I would very soon meet his family.

But I did. Two days later, I got to know his crabs.

They were big. They were six-legged. And they were many.

Something had to be done. I bought some lotion to get rid of them, which was profoundly embarrassing for the sixteen year old version of me. I had the lotion, now I had to get him to using it too.

I didn't want to blame the guy right away, so I just told him that I found out I had those things and that it didn't make any sense for me to use the treatment if he wasn't doing so too. It seemed like he understood and agreed.

But then, after I had bought the lotion for him and had offered him a place where to apply it, he cheated.

He had gone into my bathroom, got out of there really soon and then said he had done it. I trusted him, but he was lying. How do I know he didn't truly do it? One week later all of his little friends were back!.

I still didn't want to blame him though. I thought maybe the lotion wasn't strong enough. I went to the pharmacy and explained the whole story to the girl there. She gave me a different thing this time, so aggressive you couldn't leave it on your skin for longer than fifteen minutes.

We repeated the whole scene again. Talking, giving him the lotion, he pretending he put it on...

One week later though, while sitting on the couch, I saw something on his arm. I recognized it as one of those little suckers right away. I scratched it and, voilà!. On my nail, a little insect shaked his many legs in fear and awe.

I was so incredibly disgusted and angry.

I showed the poor thing to him, then threw it to his face and told him to leave immediately. I told him I never wanted to see him again, that even getting close to him would cause my stomach to turn.

I know I was a little bit harsh. But, come on: he stinked, didn't wash his dick properly and had given me crabs three times.

It was very traumatizing. Still today, so many years later, whenever I see a black spot on my skin I panic and rush to check if it's alive or not.

You can continue with chapter 4 here.

Fly me to the moon

Hello everyone. I hope you all enjoyed the Guest Entry of October. I heard some nice things about it from some of you. I'm already preparing a new one for November.

The blog has been online for a month and a half now and I want to say that I'm really happy it's still going on. I really enjoy sharing this stories with you.

I've been thinking, and finally decided to also upload a picture of myself.

I figured that you would like to have a face to put to the character appearing in the stories, and I do not think it's realistic that men in clubs will recognize me. I'm not so famous anyway. So here it is, with my laptop and my coffee cup:

I hope you all had fun yesterday, either celebrating Halloween or not. I did. This Sunday is Halloween Special.

-0-

Fly me to the moon

Yesterday night I went to a Halloween party. The whole club was accordingly decorated, becoming smaller and therefore more crowded than ever.

People walked around in all kinds of costumes. Each of them was a part of a surreal whole.

Young guys, wearing the sexy angel costume we expect them to, were parading on the dancefloor while fat superheroes watched over (and at) them. Old vampires hid in the dark corners, lying in wait for some victim to suck on. Suspiciously manly-featured nurses walked around while the clown-dressed lesbians drunk beer at the bar.

In the washroom, Bert and Ernie arranged a threesome with Hannibal Lecter.

Fighting my way through the hundreds of wings that had taken over the dancefloor, I tried to find a little spot for my zombie self to start craving for brains.

I was really into character.

Luckily, I didn't even have to walk around with my arms saying “Braaaaaaaaaaainzzzz...”. I met the guy who would eventually satisfy my undead hunger already on my way. Actually, it all happened by chance. I happened to bump into someone, who happened to be very sexy.

He was a mediterranean man with a beautiful skin colour. He had warm arabic features, huge biceps and a tight white shirt. Did I ever tell you how strong arms get me going?. I frankly don't give a damn about six-packs, but strong arms make me almost easy.

He made a joke about me bumping into him intentionally. I denied that with a smile, but I did say that maybe I was unconsciously attracted by his sexiness. He laughed and offered me a drink to make up for his sexiness standing in my way.

For a moment I thought I saw an eerie glow in his eyes the second I acceded.

A second later I could only see the warm and inviting expression again. This guy's sexual energy was attracting me so much that I didn't care. I followed him to the closest bar.

Our first drink was swiftly replaced by a second one. Soon we were both drinking our fifth. In the meantime we were having a really smooth, fluent and flirty conversation. During the third drink he asked me what I was looking for. Around the fourth, he asked me if I was a top or a bottom. After ordering the fifth one, he said he was wondering if I would be bottom enough to handle him.

He already had me in his paws, but this of course sealed the deal.

When we had finished the fifth drink, he asked me if I wanted to leave with him. When I heard his invitation, I smiled at him and nodded. There it was again, that brief glow in his eyes that I would almost define as predatory.

Luckily I was too drunk by then to care about it, I only saw how that glance made him even more attractive.

Once outside the club, we stood still and looked at each other. I realized we hadn't decided where to go yet. My house was too far away from where we were. I asked him if he lived nearby. He shook his head.

As I was standing there, wondering how we would solve this situation I saw a big park two hundred meters away from us. Normally I wouldn't even think of having sex in a public park, but I was so drunk and horny that I just proposed him to go there. He seemed reluctant, but still acceded. I guess he was drunk and horny too.

We climbed the fence and entered the park. We walked around looking for a good spot to give in to our desires.

Suddenly he pushed me against a tree and started kissing me. I reacted in the same way. One thing followed another and soon I had put my hand inside of his jeans. What I found there was huge, and hairy, and soft as a marshmallow.

I looked up and gave him a questioning look. He sighed, took my hand out of his pants and leaned against the tree in front of me.

After some hesitating he gave me the “It's not you, I just think that I drank too much”.

I was so frustrated. Since I'm single again, every guy I've had sex with came with a 20% extra disappointment. I mean, seriously. It was getting too much!. That's why I didn't give up.

I went to him and started trying out things. I hoped to do something that would make him hard. He kept on telling me to stop, but I didn't. And good thing I didn't.

On a certain moment the moon came out from behind the clouds. The minute it started shining on us, I could see how his huge dick started growing and growing (and growing and growing, actually). Maybe it was my care, but I didn't really think so. I looked at him and was about to say something when I noticed the expression on his face.

It was that look I had seen all night, that animal glow.

Before I knew it, he grabbed me by my waist and pulled me towards him.

...

Well, I bet you know how it continues.

Almost an hour later, we were both lying half-naked on the grass. The october clouds were hiding the moon again. I felt good. I felt happy that I had finally had some good sex. I must say that finding every guy disappointing after a break up doesn't help to forget your ex.

We were exhausted and didn't talk very much. Once he didn't answer, and I found out he had fallen asleep. I think I fell asleep too, for the next thing I remember is waking up and seeing the moon right above us and a hard man right above me.

I bet you also know how this continues.

I wondered where this man was getting his energy from. First it looked like there was no way for him to get, at least, half a boner. Then, without a clear reason, he manages to fiercely do me three times.

All the time I was thinking this guy wasn't wearing any costume, but I was wrong. He was a were-dick.

I don't know how it happened, maybe it was me or maybe the moon. One thing I do know is that I will not complain.

We kissed each other goodbye and I took the first morning bus that would take me home.

I entered my appartment, had a glass of water and went to bed. The next morning I had a very strange feeling about this. No matter how hard I tried I could not remember his name. I tried to look it up in my phone agenda, but I couldn't find any new entries.

I'm sure that I saved it correctly though.

(Happy Halloween)

Guest Writer October

Dear readers, today I'm introducing the monthly guest writer entry for Sex Won't Bite. Every last Thursday of the Month you'll get to hear a new voice writing about one of the themes of Sex Won't Bite. I will normally invite these people myself, but if you have anything you would like to share concerning surreal sex, dating behavior, sexual freedom and ethics or art please do contact me. It'd be a pleasure for me to provide the platform to free yourself and speak. Also, there are many good, interesting and funny things out there and I just can't screen them all!

This month's entry comes from the owner of a very peculiar fetish porn website. I was curious about the background and experience of that very special fetish. Out of that comes today's post.

It isn't only a fascinating story, but it's very touching too.

It's an introduction to a world most of us don't know, and for those who do it may be something to relate to. It's also a scream asking for understanding, for the freedom to express one's true sexuality without other individuals rejecting it because of fear.

In the last part of his entry he also writes a little about his website and what made him start it. We chose not to include a link to his site, since it's not the blog's nor my guest's goal to sell you anything and we found this might have given a wrong impression. However, if after reading you are curious about it or interested, you can contact me and I'll link you to it.


Fetish: A blessing or a burden ?


My story.

I have been a fetishist my whole life, at least as far as I remember. My fetish? Male feet, particularly in socks and shoes.

While growing up I never thought whether it was ordinary or odd; I just took it as another asset I was going to live with. Still occasionally I was afraid of being the only one in the world with this passion. A passion I couldn't explain yet.



My family was composed as follows: a father who fled quite early from my childhood and drunk himself into despair; a very strong, gorgeous mother empowered by the feminist movement of which she was a leading figure; two older brothers and a loving nanny.


Given these circumstances I have always lived in my own world. My fetish became but another part of that wonderful, complex, often lonely microcosm I was creating for myself.



In this parallel universe, male feet were an important part. And it was going to be my secret. I started to unconsciously research for the right shoes and socks to look for in a man.


I would often end up lying, ever so casually, at my mother’s friend’s feet, in the absurd hope that at one point they would place them on me. Why would they do that? I was thinking exactly the opposite: Why would anyone not place his feet on a kid lying on the floor?.



I also remember I used to cut out photos out of magazines. Pictures of fashionable men, beautiful men, politicians, actors whose socks were in sight. I would then lock myself up in my room, place a hand in between my legs pretending it was the foot of one of those semi gods and jerk off in my pants. Once, when I was 13, I came in class by robbing my crotch against my desk. One of my classmates was constantly playing with his penny loafers and I couldn't hold myself. In my fantasy world he was doing it for me



Puberty came and it was pretty obvious to me I was gay as early as my love for male feet started. I still had no idea whether to consider it strange or yet another asset of my world to be.


At the age of 16 I started having sex and dating older boys. They all wore more mature and interesting foot wear and socks. At that time I wasn't really justifying my choices that way though, I just liked older guys.



My very first, roman boyfriend was a revelation. I was 17 and he was 20. I never gave him any indication of the fact that I liked feet, or socks and shoes but the first night we spent together it happened. I was lying on the bed and I pulled his hips to my face to give him my first blowjob ever. All of the sudden I felt his beautiful, big, elegant feet grabbing my stiff cock and he started, very impressively, to jerk it. Needless to say I came in an instant. Not very often you get a chance to experience two amazing feelings for the first time in one night.



From that moment on he would always, at one point or another, voluntarily or invited, play with his socked feet on my cock. I loved this guy ;-) and he made me feel, in the end, that this passion of mine was as ordinary and “accepted” as anything else in love making. Little did I know. We ended up breaking up and my search started again.



Boys liked me; I was an attractive, sexy young fellow with SEX written all over my face. So they came and they went. Often, when making out, my hand ended up grabbing their shoes and with a subtle, sensual gesture taking them off. Some of them were surprised, went along, but never thought about playing with my friendly cock; others were annoyed and would put their shoes back on. I started feeling an outcast and my fantasy world was slowly starting to crack.



I moved to NY where I had several boyfriends and the story stayed the same, some were fine with it, others made me feel lonely and misunderstood. One thing they all had in common: none took the time to understand that this was what I actually liked. Maybe when you are a fetishist you are more sensitive about satisfying your lover‘s needs, whichever they may be, because you always wished someone would do the same for you. But I have to say some of these men were good to me and tried.



I became political about it and promised never to compromise such an important part of who I was for another man. Take it or leave it. It was then that I met the man of my dreams, the man that was going to be my guardian angel for the next 11 years.



When, for the first time I placed his foot on my crotch he spontaneously started to play along and would ultimately give me a great foot job. He told me later that he had never thought about this as a possible sexual act. But from that day on he made it into his art. I often saw him exercise and play with his toes to get better at it. He became the best in the business. Together with his unconditioned love, I got the best foot jobs I could possibly wish for. I thought the male orgasm was the way I always had them: exciting but a mechanical act. Boy I was wrong.



He wanted to know everything about this passion: what the mental implications were, what turned me on about it. Why a pair of socks more than another? or a pair of shoes?. He understood my fetishism in all its complexity and my orgasms became more like those of a woman than of a man. The mental aspect became impressively important.

He passed away a year and a half ago.



My life has changed forever and I know deep in my heart that I will never meet another angel in my life. So now I am not so concerned with finding love, I have had it at its highest and I am thankful for life. I also thought love would last forever but I was wrong. Now that I have accepted this another thought is constantly crossing my mind: how will I ever satisfy my undeniable hunger for feet, socks and shoes again?



My quest



I started researching about it, now, after so many years from that famous night with my young roman boyfriend.



SEXUAL FETISHISM: sexual attraction to objects or body parts not conventionally viewed as being sexual in nature. (Doesn’t that remind you of how the world considers gay, lesbian and transsexuals?).



The term, and this is interesting, was used by the Portuguese to refer to objects used in religious cults, how ironic, by the West African natives. Karl Marx refers to commodity fetishism as an important component of capitalism. Finally, I found out Sigmund Freud appropriated the concept to describe a form of parafilia in which the object of affection is an inanimate object or a specific part of a person.



There are different classes of fetishists, from mild ones to thieves (who steal the object that turns them on) and even to killers willing to murder to posses the specific part of their desire from an innocent body. By many it is considered a condition to be cured through intensive therapy. I, with joy, discovered I am part of Class II: the Cravers. Nothing to be afraid of. I have a passion, maybe close to obsession but since I love sex for the joy of sex when the object of my desire is denied I can still enjoy a “normal”, healthy sex session. What a relief.



Then I found something that made my heart skip a bit. Fetishism also has been a reaction to epidemic sexually transmitted disorders. For example, during the AIDS crisis, people finally started to see the foot as a new sexual item. It is definitely safe and if so many people do it, why not try it. I now discovered that people are intrigued by this newly found practice.



When I tell men about my love for feet and what it does to me they want to try and see if they can make me cum with theirs. How fascinating. And so my search for the best sock job has started again. I met a few contestants and I have to say it’s amazing how fast we, human beings, can adapt and learn to produce a “new” way to give pleasure.



Albert Einstein once said: The mind is like a parachute: it only works when it opens.



My website



In 1996 I bought my very first PC and the first thing I did was surf the net for socks/shoes themed web sites. I found many, but of all of them only one triggered my interest. The quality was impressive and it matched almost entirely with my own fantasies. I immediately subscribed to it and started downloading all the videos and photos they had. It satisfied both my fetishes, socks/shoes and voyeurism.



One day the site changed look, name and owners. I wrote a message to the administrator to ask what had happened to the only salvation I had on the net. I received a very kind message saying that the previous founder, David, had died of AIDS complications.

Since that moment there was no site left that would satisfy me. That why I, together with my angel, started to make amateur videos containing what I had always wished to see. I showed them to some of my sock buddies and they all seemed to love them. At least, they always asked for more.

That brought me to the idea: why don‘t you try to sell them?.

I put up a simple website, and it works well. Still, I have this dream of opening the Ultimate socks/shoes web site. The one I have always dreamt of finding.



A proud fetishist.

For the love of the arts

I went to an art gallery yesterday. I saw an amazing exhibition that really captivated me. It was so absorbing that I didn't even notice the hot, alternative guy in the room. Later he told me he had been following me since I came in but it wasn't till the last piece of the exhibition that he started talking to me.

We were both watching an installation and he commented about it out loud. At first I thought he was talking to himself, but when he asked how I felt about it I realized he wasn't. That's when I looked at him for the first time. Dark hair, nice lean body, green eyes and a taste for modern art... I smiled and answered.

Soon we were engaged in a very interesting conversation about the exhibition and it's theme. I was really enjoying it. We walked out of the room together, letting conversation shift from art to our personal lives.

He was a starting visual artist, which I already quite expected. He had this concept about shooting different kinds of natural pigments onto a canvas with some quite undefined patterns.Very different than my work, but an interesting and personal way of expressing himself that made him even more attractive to me.

I convinced him to stay at the museum caffetaria with me. We had some warm drinks, sitting around a design table in a room with wall-size windows everywhere.

The october rain outside made the moment even more perfect.

We stayed there for a very long time. We talked about visual art, music, dance and other stuff. I was really enjoying the moment. There was one thing though, that made the whole scene very sexual for me.

While sitting there and talking, the guy was constantly standing up to pull his jeans a little bit down as if they were too tight. It wasn't very effective though. Whenever he sat down I could see them getting tight again. It was very effective for something else. It made me focus over and over on the very prominent bulge in his pants and was really turning me on.

On a certain moment he put his hand on my thigh. A first step.

I played that it was a totally meaningless thing for me. I guess he knew though, as I always know when it's me doing this trick, that no one would think that gesture's meaningless. Still I faked, I just didn't immediately know how to react. It doesn't matter how many times I find myself in this situations, I always need to think before reacting.

“I'm going to the toilet, wanna come with me?” is what popped out of my thinking and excitement.

He arched his eyebrows, laughed and nodded. I tried to hide my satisfaction smile as I stood up and walked towards the toilets. He finished his coffee and followed.

Now comes the part in which trying to have sex in a public toilet designed by a modern artist isn't such an easy task.

We found the “toilet unit”. It was greenish and was almost fully made of papier-mâché. We opened the door of the men's room to discover there was only a wall behind it. It took us some time to figure out how the thing exactly worked.

Once we found the not so cubic cubicles we sneaked inside one of them. We started to make out, which was a little bit hard for the floor of the whole thing was inclined. Despite everything, we had a great chemistry. In no time we had already undressed one another while furiously french kissing. I guess that the fact that we were in a public “toilet” also contributed to that rush. The extra excitement and the hurry.

He turned out to be hiding a beautiful piece of art under his white slips too. This guy seemed perfect. I'll save you further details.

It's enough to say we sucked&fucked all over the papier-mâché and it was fantastic.

But, as we all know, all good things come to an end. One great thing about sex is that when the end arrives you get a final treat to make it less sad.

We were standing naked, face to face, ready for the final sprint. Ready to light the fireworks. Fireworks is a great word to describe what happened. It went high, was awe-inspiring and made my eye burn like fire.

Once I was done “ending” and opened my eyes he was still busy. And, without exaggerating, he stayed busy for about 10 more seconds.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Loads of sperm were flying everywhere, landing all over the greenish cublicle. An unbelievable volume of sticky liquid raged around me. Our clothes (specially mine) that were lying on the floor also got a good share of irrigation. My eyes, open in awe, made a great target.

Of course he hit the spot.

When the show was over, he just sighed deeply with a satisfied look on his face. I, on the other hand, was getting dressed in a hurry. I just HAD to cleanse my burning eyeball on the washtable. Luckily there was nobody standing outside and I could go immediately. I exited the not-so-cubic-le with this guys “paint” everywhere on me. My clothes, my body... I tried, in vain, to wash my eye.

He started talking about something but I was't really paying attention to him, concentrated on the rinsing. I wasn't until he started talking about his boyfriend. That was the only thing this whole scenario was missing. This guy wasn't even available, my clothes were all dirty wet and sticky and I had a red eye that burned like hell.

I got a deep understanding of where his artistic concept, shooting natural pigments on a canvas, came from though.

I'll just think it's all for the love of the arts.
.

The Fresh and Frisky Years: II

This is chapter number II of The Fresh and Frisky Years. If you want to read chapter I (not necessary to understand this one) you can find it here.

I had a boyfriend for a short while, back when I was fifteen. We had been introduced to each other by a mutual friend of ours. The boy who would later become my boyfriend had just moved in to town and didn't know anyone yet. This acquaintance we shared gave him my contact information hoping we would get on well and I would show him the nightlife in my city.

As a young gay boy getting to know someone in the gay scene of the city you're living in is difficult but important. Many people, including myself, find it very hard to go to a bar or club all by themselves and finding someone to go with you to a queer place is not so easy. Most classmates and colleagues will not join you for that.

That's why, once he was finished moving, he contacted me. I didn't really know that many gay people either, so I was happily surprised by his call. Curious what it would bring. We talked for a while before deciding to meet up.

The day of our date, I was standing at the door of the fastfood restaurant where we would come together, ten minutes before the time we had set. I had had two showers, shaved my (almost imaginary) beard, put gel in my hair, perfume on my skin, wore my favourite clothes, had told my mother I was going to meet a friend from school and was pretty damned nervous. I was fifteen, allright?.

Ten minutes of eagerly looking at every young guy coming my way later, the boy arrived.

I found him cute, he was very sweet.

During our first date we did the typical grown up dating kind of things. We went for a drink, had a walk in the park, ate a hamburger... until it was time to go home.

The “good boys dating protocoles” were not finished yet though. He still had to walk me home, thank me for the amazing night he had had and clumsily kiss me goodbye. I remember my heart was beating like crazy while I walked up the stairs of my building. I entered my appartment, kissed my mother on the cheek and then fled into my room to hide my blush.

At this point, when I look back at all those protocoles I used to follow, I realize how ridiculous it is. We had learned this way of dealing with dating from movies I guess. Lately it strikes me how many people in their twenties or thirties, still follow that schedule. If they wouldn't do it, they wouldn't feel whatever is going on between them and their date is justifiable. In the future, when I start writing about sexual moral and freedom, I will devote a full entry to this topic. For now just let me ask you:

Why would we have to go for a drink, a walk and dinner before feeling we can yield to our very natural sexual attraction?

I'll leave this subject for now, and go on with my story.

Of course, we had to have a couple more dates before we could start to touch, feel and grab each other more intimately. It wouldn't have made sense to follow all of the “good boy dating protocoles” concerning first-date-activities and not the ones concerning amount-of-dates-before-sex-is-allowed.

I'll tell you how the first date in which touching was oficially allowed was like.

We were at my appartment, my mother wasn't home. We were lying on my couch, making out for quite a while. Then I (maybe I was young, but it's still me) took his T-shirt off and made him take mine off too.

We kept on kissing for a while, half naked, until I dared to touch his package. It didn't feel that big to me, but I didn't want to judge just yet. I cautiously slipped my hand into his pants and underwear. I was very excited, it would be the fourth dick I'd ever touch (including my own). I had too little experience to know what to expect and was very curious.

I didn't expect it to be totally soft and sticky, but it was.

First thing I did was taking my hand out of this pants, while still kissing him. He was kissing me back. It took me like five minutes of making out to gather the courage to ask him about it.

“Why are you not hard? Do you not like me?” I asked, worried, while sitting on him.
“No. It's just that I already came.”

...

I was confused. This of course explained the stickiness of the domain under his slips but not the rest. How or why he came, how could he not say anything about it was beyond my understanding. Not only did he come by telepathy, he also kept it totally quiet and continued messing with me for who knows how long!.

I was speechless until he broke the silence.

“But if you want, I can still make you come too”

I just stared at him and burst into a laugh because of the whole situation. When I calmed down, I lied down next to him. I started asking him if it had happened to him before, if it was always like this...

The guy answered affirmatively to all of my questions, very calm, without showing any embarrassment.

Needless to say this was our last date. Maybe I could have tried again, have worked it out with him but I guess I just didn't like him enough. I don't feel sorry for it though. After some months I called him again and offered to go out together.

That was the beginning of a very good friendship that lasted for many years.

You can read chapter 3 too if you want.
.

The Viagra Cocktail

I went to a sauna this weekend. For those of you who don't know what a gay sauna is all about , I'll explain.

It's a place, like a spa, where men go to relax and maybe have sex. The most common facilities are a sauna, a jacuzzi, a steam room, a darkroom and some private cabins. At the entrance you get a towel and a key for a locker. You are expected to walk around naked, except for the towel that you can wrap around your waist. Of course you drop it when using any of the facilities.

Before continuing with my story I'd like to share with you the way I think about gay saunas. Most of you who have never been to a sauna, will probably feel some rejection towards it. I can understand how that feels, and relate to it, since that's the way I felt before I visited one for the first time.

The first sauna I visited was not a fancy one. It was quite small, the interior design was pretty lousy. I went with three friends of mine, two of them regular visitors while the other one was a novice just like me. He was the one who came up with the idea of going there, curious about how saunas in Europe would look like. I'm always willing to try out new things, to live, so I closed my ears to my prejudices and insecurities and acceeded.

We stayed for about two hours. We undressed in the locker room and started walking around. We went from the sauna to the steam room, then layed for a while in the bubble bath, went back to the sauna, had a drink...

I'm not gonna tell any of the stories that happened that day, for I'm preparing a specific entry about awkward situations in a sauna. I'm just going to make my point before continuing with my main story of today.

Once I got over my insecurities it was great. I experienced this place as a place of great freedom. You could just go and relax, people who wanted to could have sex while you could decide if you wanted to watch it or not, join them or not, leave or not. I felt we were all being ourselves. In a way, dropping your clothes makes you drop your facade. You, my dear readers, probably have had the experience of someone transforming when his or her clothes are off too.

In this place you could feel that everything, everyone, was allowed while nothing was expected.

It was a greater acceptance of one another than I have ever felt before, very different than the “meat market” I was expecting it to be. I'm not a regular though, don't get me wrong. Just once in a while, after a rough night or when my muscles are tired or hurt. I enjoy giving myself a full break, a break for the body and the soul.

So I went to a sauna this weekend, a new one, the place to go some people said. The first thing me and my friend saw when we got in was a beautiful restaurant. We decided to sit for a drink before doing anything else. While we were looking at the menu, the waiter came to us and gave us two cocktails.

“I think you're wrong, we haven't ordered anything yet” I told him.

“It's just a house rule. All visitors under thirty get a free cocktail from us” He said, and left to help other customers.

Well, that was great news. The drinks were very expensive here. My friend and me smiled at each other, toasted, and started drinking our cocktail.

Once we were finished, we stood up and left to explore the place. It was huge, with three different kind of saunas, two swimming pools and a lounge bar besides all of the standard facilities I mentioned before.

We decided to start with the jacuzzi, for it tends to get full and at that moment only two men were in it.

We were just lying there, relaxing. I gotta say that, somehow, I felt a bit umcomfortable this time. Maybe because the place was so fancy, so open and light. I missed that great feeling I have had with other, smaller, places. This one was pretentious, and therefore everyone was more in “hunt mode” than I'd like them to be.

I was in a jacuzzi, but I couldn't chill. I had to keep myself busy with not looking into anyone's eyes for too long. I felt they could misinterprete me, that's the vibe I got from this sauna that made it so annoying. I was so busy not looking into faces, that the fat dick next to me could not pass unnoticed. Bad idea.

I immediately felt how my own body was reacting to that. Normally, I would be able to control that, getting a boner in an awkwad situation. I thought I had left that behind, together with coffee being just coffee, when leaving high school.

This time was different though. I got a huge hardon. I didn't understand why and I started getting nervous. Even considering the place where I was, I didn't feel so good about walking around like a flag.

I also knew that the jacuzzi cycled between bubbles and still water. I hoped really hard my boner would cease before the calm. Of course it didn't.

The bubbles had stopped and my pillar of shame was right there, in front of all of us. I was trying not to care about the glances the (fiercely unattractive) strangers were throwing at us, my hardon and me, but I did care of course. I turned to my friend and sent him a help glance. He just pointed to his own crotch. He had one too.

Great.

Luckily on that moment the bubbles started again. It was a relief, still I was trying harder than ever not to look to anyone. After a while, the guys got bored and left the bath.

“What's this all about?” I asked when we were alone.

“I know!” my friend said “I don't understand, are you this hard too?”.

I nodded and laughed. Note that we had already been like this for about twenty minutes.

“Well, let's just wait here. It'll pass.” I said. I let my body sink deeper in the bath and tried to relax.

Two more groups of men came in and out of the bath, repeating the same scenario. Twenty more minutes would pass and we would still lie there, our fingers already looking like raisins.

“Is there something in the water?”

We couldn't really understand. Since I had been feeling worse and worse, when the second group of guys left us, I proposed to go. It was better than staying there like this.

“Are we gonna walk to the locker room in this condition?” My friend said.

“Well, lying here for other fourty minutes isn't good either. And if the water is the problem it makes no sense staying here.” Plain surreal.

So we breathed deep in, stood up, took our towels and built some nice tents around our bodies. We walked to the lockers. My friend was looking to the floor, walking fast but I figured that if I was to do this I would do it good. I just walked around, looking at the face of everyone who passed us. I was proud of myself for daring to do so I gotta say.

We finally arrived to our lockers. We changed, still hard, hiding it as good as we could inside of our pants and left for the ext. We had almost crossed the exit door when I saw something hanging on the wall. A picture of a green cocktail with the text under it:

“Try our new Viagra cocktail”

If I hadn't felt that awkward (and horny) I would have made a big drama about it. I just let it rest for this time. Never accept candy from strangers, Mom always said.

By the time we were getting out of the train that took us back home the storm had ceased. I was really tired of all of the tension of that day. I said goodbye to my friend and went home. I was feeling so horny after that whole evening, I tried to get rid of it with the help of my hand. I (it) was so exhausted though that I fell asleep in the middle of it.